Dirty (RAW Family 2)

Surveillance quickly came to know his habits and determined he visited the same café every morning in his hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Before he had a chance to order his breakfast, Black’s guys swooped on him. He was taken into custody on little more than a whim, and now I’m silently praying the foxhole is still where I remember it to be.

The soldier boys are silent, as usual; the only difference this time is that Black bounces his foot up and down in noticeable apprehension.

A lot is riding on this memory of mine.

Lucky for me, I’m still sharp as a tack.

The driver navigates the directions I give him, and before we get there, my mouth turns dry, and I force an audible swallow. My brow damp from the humidity, I close my eyes in trepidation, but I should know better than to question myself.

An hour and forty-five minutes into our desert drive, the driver’s companion opens the hatch separating the navigators from the cargo, and announces, “Sir, we’re approaching some kind of bunker.”

My exhale is long and slow and one of pure relief.

Black looks over at me and nods respectfully. I incline my head in return.

It’s on.

But this time, I ain’t fucking around.

Into the silence of the cab, I announce, “I need a gun.”

All of the soldiers move at the same time, and my defenses rise. I look around at each and every one of their hands extended, pistols offered without question.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say these men were showing me some sign of respect.

I blink over at Black, daring him to say something, as I reach over to take a pistol from the guy sitting next to me. I mutter, “Thanks.”

Soldier boy responds, “No problem.”

I nod, my lips pursing, as I let out a quietly growled, “Let’s knock some heads.”

Life’s situations have a way of pulling emotions from you. The particularly trying moments stretching them so thin that you don’t really feel anymore. You just are. Existing as a drone, and nothing more. But in that state of numbness, those stretched emotions, however slender they may be, are still very much there. Yes, they are there. My mind fingers those emotions like strings of a harp, plucking at cords marked misery, sorrow, and grief, playing an unnamed piece that I will soon call vengeance.

My eyes have become so dry that even blinking feels a chore. But I don’t dare weep, not a single tear, however much I crave the release.

My heart tells me to harness the anguish I feel, to harness and use it.

Which I plan to.

Julius enters the bedroom. I know this because I hear his firm footfalls still once he reaches the bed. My eyes close as I lean over the sink, holding myself up by gripping the sides of the vanity until my knuckles turn white. I breathe deeply, trying to make sense of what I need to do.

Vito Gambino wants me dead. Gio wants the baby I never carried.

Gio murdered Miguel in cold blood and, in my opinion, an eye for an eye has been served. There is no longer need for me to die. My brother took my place. His life was worth so much more than mine.

Julius comes to stand at the open doorway of the bathroom. I feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him. If I do, my sorrow will leak out of my eyes, spilling down my cheeks, and with it my fury.

“Baby,” he says in that smooth, gravelly lilt of his, and my stomach churns violently.

“They broke me. He killed my brother and now he wants my sister, Julius,” I mutter coldly. “She’s thirteen years old.” My eyes open, but rather than gazing up at him, I take in my own drawn reflection. “Thirteen.” I shake my head slowly. “He can’t have her. I won’t let him have her.”

“Okay,” he states.

“She’s just a little girl.”

“She is,” he acknowledges.

“He wants to break her. Hurt her. Steal her innocence. Turn her dark like he did me.”

He straightens. “Not gonna happen.”

Frustration wells up in me as I admit, “I need to do something. I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t even think of what to do, where to start.” My voice is weak when I mumble, “I want to kill him, but how—” I lose the words. When I find them again, I speak them resolutely. “How do you plan a murder?”

A long moment of silence, then quietly, “Come with me.”

It’s not a question, because he knows he doesn’t need to ask. Of course I’ll go with him. I’ll follow Julius anywhere, blindly. “Where to?”

“Not far.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his car keys, holding them tightly in his palm.

I need to think, but I’m too wound up. Doing something boring, something uninteresting, like going for a drive, might help clear my head. “And when we get back, you’ll help me? We’ll make a plan?”

He stares down at me, unmoving, before stating, “You and me, baby.”

And it’s the words I need to hear. Those words are a declaration. Julius will help me, help rid my life of the parasites that are the Gambino family.

We’ll do it together, as a team. A storm is coming.

There are few facts in life.

The sun will always rise at dawn and set in the evening.

We are born with nothing and die very much the same.

And finally, we all bleed red.

These are undisputed facts, but I have my reservations. I’m dying to slit Gio Gambino’s throat to see what color evil bleeds.

At this moment, although I keep my chaotic emotions to myself, my shattered heart needs Julius more than he may ever know. So we’ll go for a drive, just so I can keep him close to me and I can be where I’m most comfortable.

By his side.

We reach the pristine white building, and although it’s now in the early hours of the morning, the lights are on, and I can see people moving around through the lit windows.

I glance over at Julius as he parks on the street. “What is this place?”

He blinks at me a long while before speaking, and when he does, my heart sinks. “Got a message from Falco while we were at Tonya’s.” Running his fingertip over the leather steering wheel, he reluctantly confesses, “Asked him to call your brother, let him know you were safe.” My cold heart warms somewhat. This beautiful man of mine. “Falco said Miguel went through your house after you left. Said the safe was left wide open.”

What?

Julius goes on. “Told me Miguel sent him some of what he found as insurance. Gio had been keeping an eye on him, thinking you’d contact him. Sent Falco discs, hundreds of them, dated and timed.”

I’m somewhat baffled. The only safe I know of, I emptied when I left.

My brows furrow in bewilderment. “What are they?”

Julius shrugs lightly. “Falco can’t get into them. The files are scrambled. He opened one, but it asked for a password. He didn’t key anything in. Ten seconds later, it fried his computer. Dead.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The files are protected,” he states carefully. “I’m guessing whatever is on them is important.”

“Okay,” I mutter to myself, before asking a long, drawn out, “and we’re here because…?”

“Braden Kelly. Irish mobster. Currently on parole.” He shoots me a knowing look. “Computer whizz.”

“You think he can work out what these files are.” Let me guess. “He owes you?”

Julius shakes his head. “No, but if he comes through, I’ll owe him.”

My chest aches at the subtle beauty of those words.

I was brought up in the underground, and I know what it means for a man to owe a favor. It’s never done lightly and quite a big deal to owe a marker. You don’t offer a favor unless you plan to deliver, because if you don’t deliver, you die. The issue is that you never know what you’re going to have to do as a result of a marker. It’s a worrying thought, to owe someone unconditionally like that.

My frosted insides begin to melt, my feeling of loss thawing at the

reminder of what I’ve gained in Julius.

Julius is willing to do this for me. It isn’t even something he questions, like it’s a no-brainer, as if I am worth the consequence.

The warmth that consumes me is comforting, and things I once never dared to feel come forth, igniting the barren pyre at my heart. It sparks, then a small flame flickers, and within moments, it roars into a blaze that the gods would deem worthy.

I’m falling in love.

Reluctantly at that.

Knowing the fact is rather startling. After Dino, I never thought myself stupid enough to fall in love. Let alone to a man like Julius.

Yet, here we are.